Daily Times

Philosophers, ingenious rabbi’s of yesteryear

The great masters of the past, fade into the dusky air

Their words of freedom lie vacant on our sea’s passage

Integrity wasn’t passed down, unfortunately

It doesn’t run in our raptured veins,

Now our blood is cold, like that of dead bodies.

Generations lost to merciless heirs,

There shall be no Asma Jahangir born again!

The blood of our noble ancestors sleeps lifeless.

The ground shakes and reeks beneath my feet

Will anyone as courageous as the Turk sultan;

‘Suleiman the magnificent’ lawmaker arise from ashes?

Or one with the valour of Sultan Mehmed- The conqueror

Storm forth to free us from the clutches of tyrants

Will no replica within whose veins runs justice,

Who possesses a shadow of truth or resemblance

To the ways of Umar ibn al-Khattab (r.a) save us?

Or Martin Luther King, that warrior of nonviolence

Shall ignite these darkened nights with a flame of hope?

Shall no one with the sweetness of Rumi’s tongue

Come forth to wipe these tears of oppression?

The land where many Sufis once walked upon

Is crying out for a saviour to come and free it

Isn’t there any saint, scholar or Sufi left?

Remnants of withered leaves remain,

But a saint’s prayer hangs over a silver rainbow

Like a shoulder to lean on, soothing our blisters

While injustices are committed by those in authority

Hiding behind fabricated disillusionment of power

Drunk on money, intoxicated by the thrill of a kill

Atrocities hammered into citizens

By those who are supposed to uphold

The principles Of Justice and equality;

A smokey history on record for our next of kin

Is this the legacy our rulers shall pass down?

Puddles of blood lie on the pavement.

Where does one start this tale of anguish?

How does one describe the sound

Of the shattered heart beating numb

Within the chest of a mother who lost her child

Underneath the king’s convoy, crushed.

Or innocent one’s slain in vain by men in uniform?

The killer who ran like a mouse

Where justice is served on a cold plate

And the abused souls reek of poison.

Where even schools are attacked by Taliban

And even the sick in hospitals are burnt by goons,

Where men in bearded disguises play by unfair devices

Where there are no rules, ah what an unfair game!

Even the game of chess has standard rules

But there are no parameters here, it’s a wild jungle

How convenient to their nefarious designs

A rule-less game of threats, shouting and violence?

If the earth desired, it shan’t spare a second

To reckon us and demand a grave penalty!

A compensation for the innumerable offences

Crimes committed in the name of war

A war veiled behind the black curtain of scriptures

A battle waged against ideologies, against rights!

Our lips often betray us and silence speaks volumes

At the sight of a bribe, at the cost of a low price

Here many consciences are sold at whims

But perhaps one day, someday, someday soon

After this dark stormy mist of darkness dissipates,

A bright sunny dvay, a silver lining might appear.

The author is a lawyer and social activist. She has written on social and human rights issues for various publications and websites

Published in Daily Times, April 16^th 2018.